“Yes.”
“Why no?”
“I like cases.”
“Supervisors have cases.”
“No.”
“Supervisors have meetings about cases.”
Laura laughed.
“You’re thirty-seven.”
“Exactly.”
“You cannot chase people through parking garages forever.”
“I didn't chase anyone.”
“You got arrested.”
“Different.”
Laura leaned back.
“You know what Hale told me?”
“That coffee is terrible?”
“He said you changed his precinct.”
Maya shook head.
“No.”
“Don't do false humility.”
“It's not.”
She closed folder.
“A precinct is hundreds of people.”
“Cole damaged it.”
“Reyes damaged it.”
“Brennan damaged it.”
“Priya helped repair.”
“Hale helped repair.”
“Public defenders who kept complaining helped repair.”
“Darius Kemp helped repair by refusing to shut up.”
“Journalists.”
“Auditors.”
“Judges.”
“I'm one piece.”
Laura smiled.
“That answer is exactly why you should supervise.”
Maya groaned.
She eventually applied.
Not because Hale said.
Not because Laura pushed.
Because a new agent named Naomi Carter came to her after case review and asked:
“How do you know when you're too certain?”
Maya thought about Reyes.
Cole.
Brennan.
Hale.
Herself.
“Whenever certainty feels convenient.”
Naomi frowned.
“That sounds impossible.”
“It is inconvenient.”
“How do you work like that?”
“Verify.”
The word came out automatically.
Maya stopped.
Then smiled.
“Verify.”
She accepted promotion six months later.
On her first day as supervisor, she placed one object in desk drawer.
Reyes's letter.
Not as inspiration.
Warning.
People could become corrupt through greed.
Fear.
Pride.
Loyalty.
Shame.
But sometimes the first step was simpler.
They stopped checking whether the story they preferred was actually true.
Maya wanted never to forget that.
Five years after her arrest, Danny Reyes completed part of sentence and entered supervised release.
He did not become public speaker.
Did not get redemption documentary.
Did not meet Maya.